


Not Yet Lost

by Papillonae



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Rebirth, Gen, Post-World War I, Rise from the Ashes, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 10:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16596530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papillonae/pseuds/Papillonae
Summary: Drabble. Polish soldiers make a hopeful discovery in the aftermath of the war to end all wars.Written in honor of 100 Years of Poland's Independence.





	Not Yet Lost

All is still on the battlefield.

The barren ground, which no longer holds the seed of grass nor grain, is strewn only with ash and shrapnel. The deep, earthy trenches are empty of hosts. Dilapidated fences made from wooden planks and barbed wire hang broken and forgotten. Atop a crudely built fort, a tattered banner waves.

The soldiers who once occupied these barricades and battlements are now standing far from this place. They are in parliament halls, signing papers, shaking hands.

It is an armistice. The war to end all wars is finally over.

Only a few men remain to clean the wreckage. They recover their dead for proper burial, at least as proper a burial as humanly possible. They collect their weaponry from the trenches, he heavy knowledge of the destruction they've caused fresh in their minds. With each body or each weapon, the soldiers pause to gaze up at the midday November sun. The heaviness of loss in their hearts, a heaviness their ancestors carried with them, is extremely painful in this place.

It is the hope that no one will ever have to shoot - to kill ever again - which kindles their spirits and pulls them through.

The silence is only interrupted by a quiet whisper of wind, the shifting of dust scattering eastward. The soldiers work quietly, as if the ground on which they tread is still sacred somehow in its desolation and peace. Even robbed of its fertility, they can still feel the stirrings of healing and, strangely, of home.

Then, finally, there is a shout: a desperate beckoning from one of the men near a bullet-riddled barricade.

The soldiers rush to find their fellow man, who is kneeling before a pile of ashes. At first, they think it's another mortar, or salvageable artillery. But the shape is not angular and dangerous at all. Truly, it looks as if something organic was buried under the rubble - something human.

What draws their attention is the small hint of color at the soldier’s knee. The ash has been wiped away to reveal something soft and gold - the color of glittering sun, the color of rolling stalks of rye in the summertime. This land had once been fertile and full of gold, and the men remember this well, even as the chill of the autumn air reminds them of where they are. Summer had seemed like a dream, a memory of a time that had been lost to them for so long.

It only takes a little more dusting to reveal more of the golden hair.

The soldier gently wipes away more of the ash with his thumb, revealing the face of a young man. His skin is warm to the touch, not pallid in death. There is a glow about him, a youthfulness that touches his features that is both human and divine. The breath from his nostrils flutters against the soldier’s skin, and his eyes are closed as if in gentle slumber.

Their blood trembles, awakening at the sight of him.

They do not know his name, nor his rank, nor his station. But they know. They remember. Even though they have never laid eyes on him before, they understand.

The kneeling soldier holds the young man’s face in his hands as if it were a treasure, and begins to weep. The rest of the company fall to their knees and clamor over, all of their faces dirtied from labor streaked with tears of unrivaled joy.

In a far-stretching land of death and pain, where war had ravaged everything – life is already returning.

Finally, Poland opens his eyes, and he is returned - all is not yet lost.


End file.
